


We'll Make It, In the End

by Radiday



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 22:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15873390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiday/pseuds/Radiday
Summary: “Mare-,” Fred starts, but his breathing hitches.“Fred?” Mary asks, switching the phone to her other ear. “Freddy, is that you?”“He’s dead, Mare.” Fred’s voice is hoarse and quiet.Mary feels her stomach drop. “What? Who’s dead?”“Dad.” The words get caught in a sob. “Dad’s dead.”





	We'll Make It, In the End

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where Oscar is in this fic. Oops.

Bunny Andrews has a picture, an old polaroid with wrinkles and yellow-stained edges, that she keeps with her in her purse. 

It’s from twenty-five years ago, and it’s of her youngest son, Fred. In it, he’s curled up on his bed, fast asleep, pressed closely against his best friend, FP Jones, who’s got his arm around him.

Fred’s under the covers but FP is on top of them, and if you look closely you can see both of the dressed in black suits, although FP’s jacket can be seen crumpled on the floor.

Bunny forgets about it sometimes, but when she remembers she has this photo it makes her heart happy.

She remembers it now, holds it in her hand, as she sits next to her sleeping son, both of them twenty-five years older.

A lot has changed over the last twenty-five years. Fred doesn’t go by Freddy as much, for one. At some point he grew up and started going by just Fred. And he’s not wearing a suit right now. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s wearing a hospital gown, one hand clutching his mother’s, the other resting at his side. A bullet hole in his chest.

Bunny looks at the picture to distract herself, oblivious to the sound of Jughead Jones entering the room behind her.

“Grandma A?” he calls softly. Jughead never knew is paternal grandmother, or his maternal one, for that matter, so when he met Bunny Andrews for the first time when he was three years old, Archie had proposed that he call her grandma too, with the innocence and joy that only one three-year-old could offer to another.

Bunny was overjoyed.

“Hi, dear,” she says back, forgetting once again about the picture in her hands.

“He still asleep?” he asks, even though he can see that Fred is, indeed, still asleep.

“He is. Are you alright? Have you eaten?”

Jughead stifles a laugh. “Yeah.” He pauses, clearing his throat to fill the silence. “What’s that?” he asks finally, nodding to the picture. As he steps closer, the figures in the old black and white photo becomes clearer. “Is that my dad and Mr. A?”

Bunny laughs. “It is.” She offers the photo to Jughead for a closer look.

“When was this?”

“A long time ago, dear. Twenty-five years. My sister Joan took it, a few hours after Artie’s funeral.”

“Oh,” Jughead says uselessly, suddenly speechless.

Bunny remembers the day well, even though she doesn’t want to. Fred had played dutiful son at the reception they’d had at the house, numbly greeting family friends and business partners alike, a never fading fake smile on his face.

He’d held it together well after the last guest had left. His friends had stayed, busying themselves in clearing the dishes, packing leftovers, and sorting through the cards and flowers. Hal had even offered to mow the lawn.

She remembers watching, numb herself, as Mary all but pried the dirty dishes out of Fred’s hands. ‘I’ll do that, okay?’ she’d said gently.

Hermione had offered Fred food several times over, but each time he’d decline. ‘Not hungry.’

Finally, Alice, as efficient as ever, had taking one look at his drooping eyelids as he leaned on the kitchen counter and had ordered him upstairs. ‘Just for a few hours. Then we can go to Pop’s or something.’

Bunny remembers watching Fred wordlessly nod and drag his body up the stairs. She’d watched as FP followed behind a few minutes later.

When Joan had returned from the attic to collect more vases, she’d had the polaroid in her hand. ‘How sweet,’ she had said. ‘That FP’s a good boy. I like him.’

She’s brought back to the present when she hears Jughead ask, “Are they asleep?”

Another question he already knows the answer to.

Bunny nods. “Fred slept for 14 hours straight that night. And your dad,” she looks up at Jughead with a small smile, “God bless him, didn’t move a muscle the entire time.”

Across the room, Fred, half-awake with his eyes still closed, smiles sadly. He remembers that day too.

* * *

FP had followed him up, finding him in his room, lying flat on his back. Wordlessly, he’d entered, sitting on the edge of Fred’s bed. 

‘Do you need anything?’

‘No,’ Fred had mumbles, turning onto his side to face FP. ‘I just wanna sleep.’

FP had taken that as a cue, laying out the covers over Fred, squeezing his shoulder. ‘Okay, you sleep. We’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Just holler.’

FP had gotten two steps away before he felt Fred’s hand pull him back by his pant leg. ‘Stay, please.’ His eyes were closed, but he kept a grip on FP’s pants.

‘Okay,’ FP offered, taking off his jacket and dropping it on the floor. ‘Alright.’

He’d climbed into Fred’s bed, on top of the covers, and wrapped his arm around him.

Fred, who was already half asleep, curled even deeper into FP’s side, until his head rested just underneath FP’s outstretched arm.

And that’s how Joan had found them, an hour later, both asleep, unaware of the world around them.

* * *

Fred remembers that whole week, no matter how many drinks he used to try and forget.

He remembers sitting in a hospital chair in an empty hallway while his mother worked out details. He remembers somehow ending up outside by the phone booth, his fingers numb from cold, as he dialed Mary’s dorm room number and tried to steady his breathing.

Before she picks up, Fred curses himself. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, she’s probably in class or at the library. She doesn’t have time for this.

“Hello?”

“Mare-,” Fred starts, but his breathing hitches.

“Fred?” Mary asks, switching the phone to her other ear. “Freddy, is that you?”

“He’s dead, Mare.” Fred’s voice is hoarse and quiet.

Mary feels her stomach drop. “What? Who’s dead?”

“Dad.” The words get caught in a sob. “Dad’s dead.”

Mary nearly drops the telephone. _This can’t be happening_ , she thinks.  “Oh, god, Freddy.”

“Funeral’s Friday,” he says, then draws in a shaky breath.

She controls her own tears, swallowing them away quickly. “If I leave now, I can get back home before it’s dark, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

“You don’t have to-“

Mary doesn’t stop. “And I’ll call the others, alright? You don’t worry about that.”

“Okay,” Fred barely makes out.

They’re silent for a moment, as Mary listens to Fred’s hitched and shaky breathing. “How’s your mom?”

Fred sniffs. “She’s okay, I guess. My aunt just got here.”

“That's good,” she says uselessly, stretching the phone cord as long as it will go as she moves around the room, throwing clothes into her duffle.

“Yeah.”

They’re silent again, before Mary finally forces the words out of her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Fred.”

Fred sniffs again. “Yeah, me too,” he says quietly.

“I’ll be there soon, okay? I just gotta get some clothes together and then I’ll leave.”

“Okay,” Fred says dully.

“I’ll see you seen, okay? I love you, Freddy.”

“You too,” he barely gets out.

He slams to phone back on the receiver and looks out the dirty glass window. The sky is dark, a storm looming. He finds it fitting.  

He feels his heart pounding and his ears are ringing, so presses his fingernails into his palms in an attempt to bring himself back down to earth.

The door to the phone booth opens, and a middle-aged man pokes his head in. “Hey, kid, you just about done? I’ve been waiting-” He stops in his tracks, because he sees the tears on Fred’s pale face. “Hey, are you alright?”

But Fred doesn’t answer. He squeezes past the man, mumbling “sorry” as he runs off back into the hospital.

* * *

The next thing he remembers is being back in his room. His Aunt Joan, his mom’s sister, had arrived earlier that afternoon, force feeding both him and Bunny spaghetti and meatballs. Fred had taken one look at the meal and immediately felt bile rise, excused himself from the table, and sprinted up to his room, effectively shutting the door behind him.

Fifteen minutes later, he heard a knock. He sighed, raising his arms up to over his face.

“Aunt Joan, I’m not hungry. I’ll eat later, I promise!”

Fred hears the door creak open but doesn’t look. “Do I look like Aunt Joan to you?” the deep voice says.

Fred moves his arm off of his face and sits up on his elbows as FP enters, hands shoved in his pockets. He’s not in his army gear, but his regular leather jacket and jeans.

 _He must’ve changed before he came_ , Fred thinks uselessly.

“Hey, Freddy.”

“Hey,” Fred says as he slides back on his back and blinks at the ceiling. “How’d you get out?”

FP moves closer, running his finger along the edge of Fred’s desk. “I told ‘em my uncle died.”

Fred laughs bitterly. “Does that make us brothers?”

FP gives a genuine smile in return. “I don’t think the world could handle us as brothers, F.”

FP feels his shoulders relax when Fred smiles at that.

“Right on,” Fred says.

FP inches towards the bed, finally sitting on its edge, turning his body so he can see Fred, who’s still sprawled out with his arms over his head.

“Thanks for coming,” Fred says after a moment of quiet.

“Don’t mention it,” FP dismisses. He pauses before adding, “I talked to Allie. She and Hal should be here in an hour. Hermione too. Hiram’s going to fly in tomorrow before the funeral.”

Fred scoffs. “Of course, he is.”

“Yeah, well,” FP says, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. “You know Hiram.”

Fred hums, so FP continues. “Mary said she’ll be here by sundown.”

“Yeah.”

They lapse into silence when they hear another knock on the door. It opens before they can say anything.

The see Alice first, Hal standing shyly behind her. Hermione appears from behind him, dropping her duffle bag on the floor, as both women making their way forward to greet Fred.

Fred sits up all the way, sheets crumpled at his feet. Hermione wordlessly wraps her arms around him, Fred settling his head briefly on her shoulder.

“Thanks for coming,” he says into her shoulder, but then releases Hermione from the hug and turns to acknowledge them all.

Alice hugs him next, her hold firm and secure. “I’m sorry, Fred.”

Fred hums into her shoulder, then turns his attention to Hal. They shake hands comfortably, and Hal claps a hand on Fred’s back.

“Did you guys see mom?” Fred asks.

“Yeah,” Hal says, sitting at Fred’s desk chair. “She’s on the porch with your aunt.”

Alice makes herself comfortable on the bed next to Fred, so she’s in between Fred and FP, who’s still sitting on its edge.

Hermione settles into the foot of the bed, placing her polished hand on Fred’s leg. “She said you didn’t eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Fred mumbles.

“You sure? We could go to Pop’s. I’ve got the van,” Hal offers.

Fred drops back down onto his back. “No, thanks.” He pauses, then offers, “But you guys should go, if you’re hungry.”

“We ate on the way,” Alice chimes in. “And Hal’s watching his weight,” she says, looking pointedly at her boyfriend.

Hal scoffs, but smiles when he sees Fred let out a small laugh.

“How about the drive-in?” FP says. “They’re playing something tonight.”

Fred shakes his head again. “Can we just, like, go to the river or something?”

“Sure, buddy,” FP says. “Hal, you okay to drive?”

“Sure thing,” Hal says, nodding.

“Come on, Freddy,” FP says, extending his hanf to help Fred up. “Let’s hit the road.”

* * *

They’d spent the evening staring at the sky, reminiscing about old, stupid, high school antics. Anything and everything to get Fred’s spirits up.

“Fred, remember when you wanted to dye your hair purple?” Hermione says, laughing. “You wanted to make the Fredheads more edgy.”

Fred laughs. “It would’ve looked good!” he says, throwing a handful of grass at her. “You guys just don’t have any creativity.”

Hal had dropped them all off afterword, dropping FP off with Fred.

“Freddy, I can go back to the trailer. It’s no big deal.”

Fred’s fishing out his keys from his pocket. “Nah, man. I could use the company. Besides, mom’ll flip if she finds out you’re there by yourself.”

Fred’s voice is dull, any trace of joy from their trip to the river is long gone. FP tries not to think about it.

Bunny’s already asleep, so FP busies himself washing dishes while Fred takes a shower.

Mary arrives ten minutes later, rapping lightly on the front door instead of ringing the doorbell so as not to wake anyone sleeping.

Mary’s intuitive like that, FP thinks.

He lets her in and she joins him in the kitchen, hoisting herself so she’s sitting on the counter.

“How was the drive?” FP asks as he turns off the sink.

“Not bad. Didn’t hit too much traffic so that’s good.”

“That’s good,” FP repeats mindlessly.

Mary eyes him and gives a soft smile. “How’s Fred?”

FP shrugs. “Keeping it together. He’s alright, he’s in the shower.”

As if on cue, Fred comes down the stairs, hair damp, wearing flannel pants and a t-shirt that showed how skinny he’d gotten.

“Mary,” Fred rasps.

Mary wraps her arms around him, feeling his ribs poke into her. She leans out of the hug and clasps her hands on Fred’s face. “Are you eating?”

“No,” FP chimes in. “He’s not.”

“Freddy,” Mary admonishes. “You have to eat.”

Fred swats her hands away. “I’m eating.”

Mary and FP share a look and Mary rolls her eyes.

Fred wraps his arms around himself, suddenly cold and tired and heavy. “Can we go upstairs?” he asks quietly. “I’m tired.”

Fred settles blankly on the bed, sitting up, legs drawn up and arms wrapped around his shins. Mary and FP join him on either side, sitting on the long side of the twin bed.

“Do you want to sleep, Fred? We can go,” Mary says, running her hand down Fred’s back.

Fred shakes his head, his mouth slightly open and tears pooling in his eyes.

“Freddy,” FP sighs when he sees Fred’s face, his hand on Fred’s knee.

Fred blinks and the tears fall silently. “You know, a few weeks ago, when Dad was really bad off, Mom and I would be up all night and I was just so tired, I was _so_ tired…” he trailed off.

“It’s okay, Freddy,” Mary says, fingers running through Fred’s hair.

Fred sniffs, but the tears keep running down his face. “And I just thought, just for a second, just for _one second_ , that if Dad was dead then we wouldn’t have to stay up and worry all the time and just…” he stops himself, burying his head in his hands. When he picks his head up Mary and FP can see that he’s sobbing. “I didn’t mean it,” he pleads, looking desperately at Mary, then at FP. “I didn’t, I didn’t mean-,” he’s cut off by a sob. “I didn’t mean…” he trails off, burying his head in his hands.

Mary wraps her arms around Fred’s crumpled figure, and FP puts a hand on the back of Fred’s neck, squeezing gently.

“Of course, you didn’t, Freddy. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Mary says, her chin resting on the top of Fred’s head. “Your dad knew you loved him.”

“No, no,” Fred cries. “What if I did this?”

“You didn’t,” FP says gently. “People say and think all kinds of things when they’re tired, Freddy. You were tired. You can’t blame yourself, man. It was just your dad’s time.”

“Freddy,” Mary’s sweet sound soothes, “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t want your dad to die.”

“No,” Fred chokes out. “I didn’t,” he says, shaking his head frantically. “I didn’t, I swear,” he says.

The tears fall freely now, and Fred folds into himself even more, his head buried into his hands.

Mary and FP share a look of concern and sympathy, and FP takes his turn to wrap his arms around Fred, moving his head to rest of FP’s shoulder.

Mary moves so she’s crouching below Fred, taking his hands in hers. Fred leans into both of them, squeezing the life out of Mary’s hands and burying his head in FP’s shoulder.

He cries freely now, past the point of humiliation. Mary and FP stay quiet, rocking and shushing him gently.

He quiets eventually, resolving to sniffling and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out.

Mary opens her mouth to tell Fred he has no reason to be sorry when there’s a soft knock on the door. Fred turns his head away and scrubs it quickly to make himself presentable.

“Freddy?” Bunny gentle voice comes through as she peaks her head in. “Oh, Mary, it’s so good to see you,” she says, embracing the younger woman. “Thank you for coming, dear.”

“Of course, Mrs. A. I’m sorry if we woke you.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t sleeping. I’m glad I caught you before tomorrow, anyways.” She rubs Mary’s arm before turning her attention to the boys. “FP, do you need anything, honey? Extra blankets, pillows?”

FP smiles softly at her. “No, Mrs. A. Don’t worry, I’m good.”

Fred’s eyes remained fixed on the thumb he’s picking at, clearly attempting to hide his tear-stained face.

“Freddy,” Bunny starts, lifting his head with her fingers. “Did you eat anything?”

“Yeah, mom.” His voice is hoarse, eyes avoiding his mother’s.

Bunny opens her mouth to say something but shuts it and settles for a gentle kiss on her son’s forehead. “You should sleep, darling.”

“I will,” Fred says dully.

Bunny tightens her pink robe and gives one last run through Fred’s hair. “I love you, Freddy.”

“Love you too.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. A.,” FP offers.

She shuts the door behind her, and soon after Mary agrees that its getting late and she should get home too. “Mom’s waiting up,” she says.

Fred nods, eyes looking but not seeing, as Mary bends down and wraps him up in a parting hug. “Try and get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kisses him on the cheek and then turns to squeeze FP’s shoulder. “Night, FP,” she said.

FP gives her a sad smile in return, squeezing her arm back. “’Night, Mare. Drive safe.”

* * *

Fred also remembers what happened the next day, the day of Artie’s funeral. Maybe the worst day of his life.

The funeral itself was held in the church. It had been the first time Fred had been to church in two years, much to his parents’ dismay.

He’d driven with his mother and FP to the cemetery, staring at his lap, his mother’s hand squeezing his for dear life.

He’d stood there, on the wet grass, hands shoved in his pockets, as he watched his father get lowered into the ground. He wanted nothing more to be anywhere but there.

His friends stayed close, created a discrete circle of protection, keeping their eyes on him and ready to give him an out at a moment’s notice.

It’s too bad none of them saw what was coming next.

They heard him before they saw him. Drunk, belligerent. His footsteps were heavy even against the moist ground.

“Artie Andrews finally kicked the bucket, eh?” the man called.

Everyone turned, and Fred could hear Joan mumble, “for god’s sake, not him,” into a friend’s ear.

Fred found himself walking towards the man without thinking, FP following close behind.

“Sorry for your loss, kid, but let’s be honest, the fucker deserved to die,” the man slurred.

Fred opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He felt paralyzed.

“Hey!” FP called out from behind him, getting dangerously close to the man. “Get the fuck out of here! Nobody invited you!”

“You better watch your mouth, boy, or you’re going to have another thing coming,” the man sneered, grabbing tightly onto FP’s wrist.

FP pulled his hand away, quickly glancing back at the crowd, who had mostly gone back to watching Artie be lowered into the ground.

But Fred’s eyes were still fixed on the man, staring blankly at the scene in front of him.

Having had enough, FP dragged the man by his sleeve back to the road. “Listen here, you piece of shit, you stay the fuck away from the Andrews’, okay? I swear to God, I will call the police this time!"

“Oh yeah? And they’ll to what, exactly?” the man got so close to FP he could practically taste the alcohol.

“They’ll put your sorry ass in prison, where you should’ve been all these years. So, you stay the fuck away from them and you stay the fuck away from me. You got that, Dad?”

FP Senior stumbled back. “Fuck you, boy!” he shouted as he walked away. “Fuck you!”

FP watched his father go, then retreated back to Fred, who was still motionless. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Fred choked out.

“Come on, man, let’s go back.”

* * *

Hours later, riddled with guilt, FP found Mrs. Andrews offering guests food in her living room. “Mrs. A? Do you have a minute?”

“Of course, dear,” she said with as much sympathy as she could offer. “Are you alright? Is Fred alright?”

“He’s fine, I just,” he paused, looking desperately around the room, “I just wanted to apologize for what happened. If I had known that my dad would’ve come I would’ve-.”

Bunny cuts him off. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says, cupping his face in her hands. “That was not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for, okay? You’re not your father, do you understand?”

FP nods, keeping the tears at bay. “I’m still sorry, ma’am.”

Bunny laughs lightly. “Oh, now, it took years for me to get you to stop calling me ma’am. We are not going back there,” she says, wagging her finger in her face jokingly. “Come here,” she says, pulling him into a hug. “Your family, you know that? You always will be, no matter what. Everything’s going to be okay, dear. Don’t you worry.”

Fred finds them like that, giving the first real smile he’d had in days. “Don’t tell me he’s your new favorite,” he says to his mom.

Bunny laughs. “Oh, he’s always been my favorite,” she jokes. She stretches her arms, indicating for Fred to join the hug. “Come here, my boys. My sweet boys.”

And, now, sitting here in Riverdale General Hospital, twenty-five years later, Bunny and Fred have the same thought.

Bunny was right.

Everything was going to be okay.


End file.
